Category: Tribute

A World At War

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

usa-la_-nola_-wwiimuseumIt’s difficult for most of us to even imagine what the world was like in 1941. The United States was not thought to be a powerful force. In fact it was ranked eighteenth in the terms of military might. The country was only beginning to recover from the effects of the Great Depression. Most of the country was rural and there were still a majority of homes without electricity or indoor plumbing. The mood was isolationist as the populace here watched events unfolding in Europe with horror but an intense belief that our nation needed to stay out of the fray. My mother was fifteen and my father eighteen as December began that year. They were yet to meet one another and naively unaware that life for every American citizen was about to change dramatically.

My mother often spoke of December 9, 1941 when the Japanese bombed the American fleet in Pearl Harbor. It was a fearful and shocking moment. She along with her countrymen listened to President Roosevelt as he reassured the nation. She remembered how quickly people answered his call for all Americans to participate in the coming war effort. She saw her brothers enlisting in various branches of the Armed Forces one by one, and saw high school friends leaving the classroom as soon as they were old enough to lend their help to the cause.

World War II was like no other engagement in history. Its influence stretched across the globe, affecting people on virtually every continent. Here at home citizens of every age contributed in one way or another. Women who had traditionally kept the home fires burning took over manufacturing jobs. Industries were cranking out planes and ships and munitions at a fevered pace. Everyone rationed their use of critical materials, including paper. My mother-in-law often showed me the yearbook from her senior year of high school. It was thinner than a monthly magazine, made only of the cheapest quality pulp. It mirrored the reality of the time with row after row of photos of mostly young girls. The boys had dropped out of school and to join the fight.

When our troops first went to faraway places like northern Africa and the Pacific they were ill prepared to battle the well trained and experienced Germans and Japanese. They often found themselves overwhelmed and in retreat in the earliest forays. They learned on the job and became just a bit better as they slowly understood the demands of the new ways of fighting. I have often wondered how those of us living in today’s world might react to news of battlefield losses and situations requiring our troops to run for safety. Would we have the heart to continue the fighting or would we give up quickly? Luckily the generation who fought World War II was made of stern stuff. They were determined to do whatever it took to free Europe from the grip of Nazi Germany and the Pacific from the Japanese.

There was much at stake and the American people understood that they could not be deterred from seeking total victory. In that regard both Japan and Germany had greatly underestimated the will of our country. There are those who wonder if the world might indeed look very different today had the United States not allied with Great Britain and Russia in that great fight against fascism and tyranny.

The World War II Museum in New Orleans, Louisiana is a repository of the remarkable history of that era. It is filled with the stories of both the leaders and the common people who worked together to defeat the enemies and free the world from their dominance. With hundreds of photographs, artifacts, videos and research texts it leads visitors from the beginnings of the conflict to its horrifying end with the explosions of atomic bombs over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It is a touching and personal journey that is honestly and beautifully told.

The city of New Orleans was chosen as the site of the museum because it was the birthplace of the the inventor of the Higgins boat which was used to bring troops ashore at Normandy on D Day. Mr. Higgins was already making shallow draft boats for fishing in the bayous and swamps when the military expressed a need for a military version of such craft. He was ready to design a larger boat capable of transporting troops. The Higgins boats that were manufactured in New Orleans have often been credited with helping to win the war in Europe.

It’s been seventy five years since our nation entered World War II. By the end of the conflict the United States was viewed as a major political power. With an infrastructure unharmed by the devastation of the war we were poised to enjoy an economy exploding with innovation and production. The soldiers returned to an exciting time that included creating a new generation of children that would become known as the Boomers. The United States was slowly but surely transformed by the building of a system of interstate highways that made travel from one ocean to the other quicker and more open to all people. The same spirit that drove the success in the war continued its inventiveness all the way to the moon and back.

Those of us who were the children of the men and women who endured the uncertainties of war would inherit the fears of the atomic age. We would wear dog tags for a time to identify us in case of a nuclear attack from the Soviet Union. We practiced air raid drills each Friday afternoon, crouching under our desks in wonder and confusion. Our generation would be drafted into a new and different war in Vietnam that somehow never made as much sense as the one our parents had fought. We would march for the civil rights of our Black neighbors and those of us who are females would blaze new trails in education and work.

World War II was never just a long ago historic event to us. We saw those photos of our dads and uncles in their uniforms. We heard the stories of life under siege. We watched the old black and white movies that celebrated the accomplishments of our generals and troops. We saw the sadness in the eyes of those who lost loved ones in places so far away that nobody had even known that they existed before the battles. We were the link between the past and the present, the generation that watched the world change at such a rapid pace that it was sometimes difficult to keep up. We truly appreciated what the brave men and women of the world endured to secure a time of promise and opportunity for us.

Few people in 1941 might have imagined a nation so filled with the bounty that we now have. Ordinary citizens enjoy lifestyles that once belonged only to the wealthy. We live in modern homes and watch our big screen televisions that bring the world into our living rooms. We travel the world and study at universities at a rate that our parents never saw. We have much for which to be thankful and most of it resulted from the brave and unselfish acts of a generation that chose to defeat the forces of pure evil. Their story is on full view seven days a week at the World War II Museum in New Orleans. Every one of us should take the time to absorb the importance of the stories that are told there and to thank the veterans of that war and those who serve today to protect us. 

The Brotherhood of Man

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

frederick-douglass-1852The first slaves were brought to North America in 1619, when the colony at Jamestown, Virginia was formed. It was not until 1863, that all slaves were freed by President Abraham Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation. If you quickly do the math you begin to realize that there were slaves on our soil for two hundred forty four years before that barbarous practice was finally outlawed. It is difficult to even consider how anyone might  have ever believed holding another human being in bondage was anything other than immoral. Even considering that times and ways of thinking were different doesn’t seem to absolve the ignorance and evil associated with that custom. The old argument that it was legal so it must be okay trumped common sense and the concerns of religious groups and abolitionists. Those who advocated freedom for all people were often considered overzealous kooks who simply did not understand the complexities of the situation. Most citizens simply looked the other way rather than honestly face the horrific realities of slavery. It was easier to keep it in place than to insist that it be abolished forever.

As with all of history there have always been courageous individuals who have been willing to endure unremitting criticism in a quest for what they believed to be right and just. Frederick Douglass was one of those people. Douglass was born in Maryland in 1818, and named Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey. He was a slave who had little memory of his mother who was traded away while he was still a baby, a common practice designed to keep enslaved people from forming strong attachments to one another. Frederick was moved from one master to another over time. When he was twelve the wife of one of his owners taught him the alphabet and the basics of reading. From this humble beginning he stealthily taught himself how to read and write, often glimpsing newspapers and books when no one was watching. For the rest of his life he believed that “once you learn to read, you will be forever free.” In that spirit he taught other slaves how to decipher the words of the Bible when they came to Sunday school. Once the owners learned what was happening they put an end to the lessons by beating the congregants and disbanding the services for good.

Eventually when Douglass was sixteen years old he ended up in the hands of a man known to be adept at breaking the spirit of slaves. The overseer beat Douglass mercilessly but the sixteen year old fought back in both body and mind. He had already read enough to understand fully that his imprisonment was morally wrong and he became more and more determined to find a way to freedom. After multiple attempts he finally managed to make his way to New York City where he was protected in a safe house run by David Ruggles. He was twenty years old and eager to advocate for other slaves still held in bondage. The year was 1838. It would be twenty five years before Douglass saw his dream of emancipation come true.

Frederick married a free black woman whom he had previously met and they settled in Massachusetts. It was at this time that he chose Douglass as his new last name. He quickly became known as an eloquent orator and writer among abolitionists and was often featured at gatherings of anti-slavery groups. This was a difficult route to follow. He and those with whom he worked were often the victims of violence. Still he dedicated his life not only to abolishing slavery but also to advocating for the rights of women to vote noting, “If there is no struggle, there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom and yet depreciate agitation are men who want crops without plowing up the ground. They want rain without thunder and lightning. They want the ocean without the awful roar of its many waters. This struggle may be a moral one; or it may be a physical one; or it may be both moral and physical; but it must be a struggle. Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will.”

Douglass was a highly religious man who openly criticized those Christians who remained silent about slavery saying that their refusal to speak up for what was right and just was an abomination of the teachings of Christ. “Here we have religion and robbery the allies of each other – devils dressed in angels’ robes, and hell presenting the semblance of paradise.”

By the outbreak of the Civil War Douglass had become one of the most famous and outspoken black men in the country with his views being published and discussed in gatherings across the globe. His influence was so great that he often conferred with President Lincoln whom he was not loath to criticize for taking too long to free the slaves. He worked tirelessly to secure the passage of the 13th, 14th and 15th amendments which outlawed slavery, provided citizenship and equal protection under the law and protected all citizens from being discriminated against in voting.

Douglass continued to work for causes of fairness and equality for another twenty five years after the war had ended. He understood that there was still much to be done and many injustices to be overcome. He wrote for newspapers and authored books. He spoke all over the world reminding people that “where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe.” 

Frederick Douglass died at the age of seventy four of a heart attack or possibly a stroke.  He had energetically fought for the rights of all people for his entire life admonishing his fellow man to consider our shared humanity. “A smile or a tear has not nationality; joy and sorrow speak alike to all nations, and they, above all the confusion of tongues, proclaim the brotherhood of man.”

Learning To Be A Woman

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

Valentine's Day In ChinaAround this time each year I think about my mother-in-law Mary who would have been ninety years old on her February birthday. She has been gone for thirteen years now and it seems as though I miss her a bit more with each passing year. She was a very wise and intellectual woman, a feminist before anyone had even coined that term. She was, however, not exactly like many of those who march today. She was someone who believed that the true definition of a liberated woman was someone able and willing to do and believe whatever she wished. She never restricted her possibilities with narrow platforms of acceptable philosophies. She was a trailblazer in her own right but she felt just as strongly that every other woman should have the right to live without judgement according to her own desires.

Mary attended Rice University when it was still known as Rice Institute. There weren’t many young ladies there at the time and some of the professors were hell bent on discouraging those who dared to invade the ranks of the male dominated student body. Ironically it was a woman who gave her the most grief, believing that the women in her mathematics class had little or no right to be there. Mary didn’t hold it against the university. In fact she was always quite proud of studying there and was an ardent alumna for all of her life. She enjoyed taking continuing education classes there and loved to exuberantly share stories with me about the things that she had learned. The two of us huddled together on so many memorable Sunday afternoons. She would prepare a pot of tea in the manner that she had learned from her English mother and we would sit at her mahogany dining table while she regaled me for hours with fascinating facts and bits of information.

She especially enjoyed courses on history and politics. Her knowledge was years ahead of everyone that I knew. She predicted events long before they happened based her studies. She kept me informed so that I was always able to vote rationally rather than just with my heart. I so looked forward to those Sunday afternoons when she demonstrated her encyclopedic grasp of the world.I would love more than anything to hear her views on today’s political scene. I have little doubt that she would study each situation with an eye to discerning the truth. She would excitedly tell me the history and the psychology of how we have arrived at the present impasse and such dramatic divisions. In fact she hinted at the possibility of such things almost twenty years ago.

I always thought that she would have been a remarkable teacher but she chose a career in business instead. She had been inspired by her mother who successfully managed an electric company in an era when most women had little idea of how to do such things. Eventually Mary kept did the accounting for a variety of companies and even a wealthy church with a very complex set of books. She was as meticulous and interested in her work with numbers as she was in learning about the ebb and flow of history.

Ironically her very best friend Rosemary shared the same February birthday. Rosemary might have seemed more traditional than Mary at first glance but she also had an incredible story. She grew up in Chicago, the daughter of a plumber. She studied to be a nurse and joined the military where she met her husband, an Army cardiologist. The two of them settled down in Houston where he became one of the most renowned doctors in the world and she raised five independent minded and high achieving daughters. She encouraged her girls to dream big and all of them did, becoming superstars in their respective fields. Rosemary herself is an accomplished world traveler literally able to converse with kings and potentates as easily as she does with me. Rosemary is still spreading joy and uplifting all of us who know her, but she is much older now and somewhat frail. Still her inner spirit continues to radiate her positivity lighting up any room where she is found.

When Mary and Rosemary were together they were like an inspirational power couple. I so wanted to be just like them, women of the highest distinction who were unafraid of anyone or any situation. I liked nothing better than sitting quietly and observing them in the mode of watching and learning that my mother had always urged me to do. 

As I prepare myself a cup of hot tea each afternoon I invariably think back to those lovely times when I shared a cup with those two. They were the best of times. I can almost hear Mary providing her well researched opinions on all of the topics that dominate the news today. She would have been well prepared to state a definitive point of view about each. She often mentioned that her secret goal in life had been to move to Washington D.C. to be a translator and a diplomat. She would have been gloriously wonderful in that regard but I am selfishly happy that she changed her mind and stayed here in Texas where I was able to make her a central figure in my life.

Mary was what some refer to as a pistol in a very complimentary way, a twin of women like Ann Richards. I don’t think she was afraid of anyone in her entire life. She had a way of raising her eyebrow when she was displeased that would have stopped the devil himself. She brooked no hysteria nor senseless chatter. She went straight to the point like a championship debater and had a persuasive manner that was difficult to ignore. I like to believe that I developed much of my gumption under her tutelage.

Mary and Rosemary were two larger than life women when ladies were not yet acknowledged so much for their intellect as for their beauty. They successfully challenged the status quo without being overbearing or insensitive. They expressed themselves as independent thinkers and individuals without feeling a need to demean the men that they knew or women who chose other paths. They respected and loved  people with such passion that their feelings were invariably felt and returned with immense gratitude.

February is a time when we think of love and remember great leaders in history. It is also fitting that it is the month when I always fondly recall the two women who have had such a profound impact on the person that I am today. From them I have learned how to think for myself, ferret out the truth, make wise decisions and most of all cherish the vast diversity of ideas, religions and cultures in our world. They showed me how to live life by saying to all, “I see you. I hear you. You matter.” That is what makes a mighty woman.

  

Love Is Still The Answer

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

two-people-holding-hands-connection-love-vulnerability1I was nineteen years old that April when Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. died. I felt as though I myself had been attacked by a bullet when I heard the news of his assassination. I was shocked, devastated. He was and remains my hero, a larger than life figure who made a lasting imprint on my life when I was only tentatively entering adulthood. That was almost fifty years ago and in the years that followed his murder I have lived through a lifetime and become what society views as an old woman. Still the memories that I have of Dr. King are as fresh and vibrant as if they had occurred only yesterday. I cherish the fact that I was old enough to remember the world as it was before he so courageously sought to change it. For it is in knowing the impact of his influence that I am able to understand why he is perhaps the most important figure of the twentieth century.

I am a child of the south who saw the injustice of segregation. I used to ride a bus to downtown Houston with my mother from our home just a block away from what was then called South Park Boulevard. I enjoyed those adventures on public transportation far more than simply jumping into our car and riding to our favorite shopping spots. My mother had grown up taking a bus into town from her childhood house near Navigation. She regularly jumped aboard the carrier that transported her to shopping, movies and her first paid jobs. It felt natural to her to take a bus to get around the city rather than to fight traffic and so we often waited on the corner until the great big conveyance stopped to let us on.

There were not usually many people on the bus when we first stepped aboard but by the time that we reached our downtown destination it was packed. Back then I was only five or six years old and thought little about the seating arrangements that were literally dictated by law. There was an invisible line of demarcation separating those of us with white skin from our fellow Houstonians with darker complexions. They mostly joined us on our journey as we got closer to downtown, usually around Scott Street, obediently moving to the seats in the back, quietly enduring their humiliation.

As a child I was curious to know why such traditions existed but the way in which my mother would silence my inquiries told me that there was something secret and painful about the situation that I was not deemed old enough to understand. I remember sneaking peeks at my fellow travelers and wondering why we needed to be set apart from one another. I was still an obedient child and dared not question my elders but the whole thing seemed rather silly to me.

Our city was filled with shameful rules that prohibited those same folks who sat at the back of the bus from eating in the restaurants where we enjoyed lunch. There were separate water fountains and bathrooms for them as well. I didn’t understand but I complied with the unjust directions while questions began swirling inside my head even back then. I suppose that I have always been a bit of an old soul and my five year old mind felt the wrongness of what was happening even while the adults around me seemed not to even notice.

I came of age in the nineteen sixties, turbulent times defined by war, violence and open protest and questioning. Television had become a commonplace way of viewing world events on a nightly basis. I was educated by nuns and priests from the north whose points of view were often more radical than those of the southerners who were my neighbors and fellow citizens. I had eagerly watched the civil rights movement unfold from the summer when I took my last vacation with my father before he died. I was seven then and those weeks were punctuated by an awakening within my mind. I had overheard discussions between my father and grandfather about integration efforts in schools in Arkansas. I saw African Americans mingling with whites during our trip to Chicago as though there was nothing more natural. Somehow I realized that the way of doing things in my hometown were wrong and I audaciously announced my feelings to my parents who urged me to be cautious in pronouncing such radical ideas to strangers who might not take so kindly to my thinking.

By the time I was a teenager my sense of justice was full blown and I was no longer afraid to speak my mind. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had become the embodiment of all of the values that I held dear. He was a hero of enormous magnitude in my mind. His was a message of love and tolerance. He was noble and brave and seemed to follow the teachings and example of Jesus Himself. Little did I truly understand the depth of this remarkable man. I worshipped him only superficially without knowing how human he was and how difficult and dangerous it was for him to assume the mantle of leadership in a cause that would ultimately lead him to his death. I would be nearer to the age that he was when he died before I would truly understand his greatness.

I have read many books and stories about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. He was thrust into a battle for justice that he did not seek. He was given a gift of oratory that was able to put the frustrations of his brothers and sisters into unforgettable words. Time and again he had to pray for the strength to endure the hatred that followed and threatened him wherever he went. He might have turned away from his destiny but somehow he soldiered on again and again. Always he spoke of unity and tolerance and the power of love. The more I learned about him, the larger his influence loomed in my mind. He was undoubtedly one of the the greatest Americans of all time, deserving of a place in history alongside the likes of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln.

Martin Luther King was struck down before his work was finished but he had accomplished so much. Young people today can’t even begin to imagine the horror of segregation that I witnessed and thankfully didn’t have to endure simply because I was born with white skin. We have truly come a long way from those days but there is still divisiveness in many circles. While it should not make the least bit of difference, there are still those who make judgements about their fellow humans based only on the color of skin or texture of hair. A residue of the kind of hatefulness that prompted the assassination of Dr. King remains even almost fifty years later. When, I wonder, will the ugliness be completely eradicated from our thinking and what will it take to get us to a place where there are no more Dylan Roofs who slaughter innocents peacefully going about their lives at church?

I am almost thirty years older than Dr. King was when he died. He never got the opportunity to see the changes that I have seen. He did not live to witness the first African American President of the United States. He never realized the ultimate power of his legacy. He was instead quite weary on the day that he died. His energy and enthusiasm were severely taxed because there was still so much more work to be done. He experienced profound agony in understanding that man’s inhumanity to man is an evil that must be overcome one person and one situation at a time in an almost endless cycle. Still he held fast to a belief in possibilities, reminding us again and again that “love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into a friend.” He fully believed those words as do I to this very day.

Our world is in a state of tumult once again. Our young in particular are questioning the way we do things just as our children have throughout history. They look at our society with fresh eyes and wonderment. They are searching for answers to the questions that daunt them and redress to the unfairness that they see. I pray that they too will find a hero as magnificent as mine. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was imperfect like those who founded our country but he rose above his fears and his flaws to lead us in a cause that was far bigger than himself. He did so with grace and sacrifice and showed us what we can accomplish if we put love at the forefront of our lives.

Time and Place

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

7aea08a23754ac4ae7fb7ce0b0ca8567.jpgI was a very young child when my father died suddenly. I had a rather difficult time grasping the reality of the situation. For a very long time I had recurrent dreams in which he would return home, explaining that he had been on a long business trip. We were overjoyed to learn that he was okay and our lives continued just as they had before his fatal car accident. Sometimes even in the light of day I would have moments when I almost forgot that he was gone. I expected to see him coming through the front door smiling. Then I would remember what had happened and feel a sense of grief overtake me. Slowly but surely over a period of many months I adjusted to the reality of my situation and it was a painful experience filled with sadness and many fears.

Since that tragic time in my life I have endured other losses but none quite as surprising and gut wrenching as the death of my father. Nonetheless there were moments when I  dreamed of other loved ones who had died with such vivid reality that it seemed as though they really were still here with me. I would awake feeling disoriented and extremely disappointed upon realizing that my mind had played tricks on me. I suspect that my night time reunions with the departed were a kind of survival mechanism to help me ease into the stark realization that my world had dramatically changed and there was nothing more that I might do about it other than learn how to cope.

I have been quite weary since November. I still think back on the instant when it became clear that Donald J. Trump was going to be the next President of the United States and my mind goes foggy as though I am grappling with a concept that still has not quite computed in my brain. I was barely awake when his victory was declared at nearly three in the morning. I think that I actually went into shock. I remember seeing President Elect Trump’s face in those first moments and I believe to this very day that he was almost as surprised by his victory as I was. During those few moments when he first learned that he would be the leader of our nation he appeared genuinely humble and perhaps even a bit afraid. I almost wish he would stay that way but alas he has regained his old bravado.

I awoke early the morning after the election feeling groggy and a bit hungover, not from drink but from the brew of disbelief that still kept me from accepting what had happened. I fully expected to learn that I had only imagined that a man who seemed so singularly unqualified for the highest office in the land had actually won. In the days and weeks following I became engaged in a flurry of activity that included my birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas and the dawn of a new year. I even lost my dear sweet cousin Jack to heart disease. All of these things kept me busy enough that I rarely even thought about the election or any of my fears of what might happen once Donald Trump takes the oath and becomes our head of state. It was not until the lights and glitter of the holiday season were tucked away that I began to think about what had happened. Amazingly I have yet to fully embrace the realities to come. Somehow I harbor the same disbelief that overtook me when my father died. I expect to learn at any minute that the whole election season had been an elaborate joke or a very bad dream.

I feel a bit weary from all of the back and forth and hatefulness that was so much a part of the election season. I’m very tired of the invective and bitterness. I’m ready to sit back and give the man a chance to demonstrate that he is not as ill suited for the job as I think he is. I grasp at moments when he actually assumes a presidential demeanor and try to give him credit when it is due. I don’t believe that writing him off before he has even begun will do our country any good. Self fulfilling prophecies rarely bring positive results. I tell myself that I need to be vigilant but also fair in judging Donald J. Trump and hope that he will prove me wrong. I would like nothing better than to witness him rising to the occasion and showing compassion and understanding for all of the citizens of our nation.

I am a peacemaker by nature, a diplomat. I believe in compromise and the power of finding points of agreement between differing camps. Deep down inside we all want a better world for our children. We unfortunately have conflicting visions of what that looks like. Sometimes the best answer to our problems is the one that takes into account everyone’s feelings. I worry that we are now so divided that we will automatically spurn offers of an olive branch even when it seems wise to give a little to get a little of what we want and need. Right now the knee jerk reactions from both sides of the political spectrum indicate that we are not yet ready to surrender our implacable points of view, which gets me to a pet peeve of mine.

I love to watch awards shows like the Grammys, Emmys, and Academy Awards. I enjoy the pomp and the celebrity of such celebrations. They provide me with an escape from the tedium of day to day realities, just as the artistry that they honor also brings me relaxation and momentary forgetfulness about the troubles that plague us. Fantasy has a way of helping us to cope just as the dreams of my father did. We want it to take us away from whatever is bothering us, not remind us of our worries. When we enter Disney World we become enchantingly entranced and leave our hurts and fears at the gate. So it is with music, television and movies. Our minds feel free as we momentarily forget whatever has been bothering us. When we honor the gifted individuals who give us the gift of their talents we want to be festive, not political. If we wanted to hear editorials we would tune in to Meet the Press or read the opinion pieces of the Washington Post.

During George W. Bush’s presidency the awards programming became boorish to me. It was almost certain that someone would launch into a tirade that I didn’t want to hear even if I agreed with the thoughts. It seemed an inappropriate time in which those of us in the audience were being held captive to points of view that had little relevance to the reason for the event. I slowly began to switch channels when such things happened and to be conditioned to not even tune in at all. For the most part these antics have disappeared in the last eight years because most celebrities were strong supporters of President Obama. Now I fear that the tactics will begin anew and I will have to abandon my viewing in protest.

I have always considered Meryl Streep to be one of the finest actresses to ever grace the silver screen. Many decades ago I listed her as my favorite star and that admiration has not abated over time. She is a gracious and supremely talented woman. I am well aware that she was a dedicated supporter of Hillary Clinton. I think she might even be a grand person to one day portray Ms. Clinton in a biopic. I deeply respect her political views as well as her disappointment in the outcome of the election because I am as stunned and worried as she is. At the Golden Globes she was given a well deserved lifetime achievement award. The acceptance speech that she gave was moderated and heartfelt but it was in the wrong place at the wrong time. A simple thank you to those who gave her this distinction was all that we needed to hear. There will be ample time and multiple places to more appropriately deliver her message. I would ask her and other celebrities to please just entertain us. We need our moments of escape and when we want to hear what they are thinking we will tune in to programming that is designed for discussions and opinions. We will read their tweets and ponder their editorials when they appear in the proper settings. We don’t want to hear lectures when our purpose is to pause from the irritations of life for an hour or two.

Celebrities must understand that we ordinary folk live in the big middle of the furor. We don’t have fences around our compounds. We have no cooks or cleaning ladies. We are our children’s nannies. We work hard and have very little free time on any given day. We have bills to pay and repairs to make. It’s not that we don’t care about the issues that are so vital to the artists who entertain us. It is only that we need a break now and again which is why we love the movies, shows and music that these gifted individuals provide us. When it comes time to honor the best of the best we want to see a celebration not a political rally. That is all that we ask. If they think about it perhaps they will understand.